SARA TAUTUKU ORME
Kaumātua Aotearoa is a tākoha — a gift of aroha and hononga to our kaumātua, our whānau, our hapori, and the generations to come.
This kaupapa honours and protects the kōrero whaiaro and mātauranga tuku iho of our elders, captured through large-format photographic portraiture and oral histories — shared in their own words, on their own terms. Rooted in tikanga Māori, whanaungatanga, and story sovereignty, it is a living taonga for iwi, hapū, whānau, and uri.
Our kaumātua — born in the 1940s and earlier — are pātaka kōrero, pou manawa, and guardians of our collective memory. They have lived through decades of change in Aotearoa, holding firm to the stories, reo, tikanga, and wairua that anchor us.
Through their kōrero, we are nourished. Through their mātauranga, we are reminded who we are. Their journeys, their resilience, their aroha carry us forward, binding past and future.
Kia ū, kia mau ki te kupu o ō tātou kaumātua. May we uphold their mana, treasure their words, and carry their mauri into all that lies ahead.
Rānana (Nancy) Taituha-Paul,
Ngāti Maniapoto, Ngāti Rereahu
Sandringham, Tamaki Makaurau
“People might have looked at our street in Mt. Roskill and saw it as poor, but we loved that street. It was a really tight knit community, and we all looked out for each other. We were poor, but we were really happy and really supported one another. At this time there was a pretty small Māori population around this area. Something like four per cent, but Wesley Intermediate and Mount Roskill Grammar were really punching above their weight at the time. The Māori kids really gravitated toward one another because they were also all living away from their spiritual homeland. The school knew we were a hardship family and supported me – they’d help break down any barriers to learning. My girls got into kapa haka and started their te reo Māori road from there. They’d always come home speaking te reo, and because of them, I started on my own road to [discovering] Māoridom.
I was fifty-nine when I first learned who my ancestors were and where Māori came from. As a kid, I didn’t even know what Papatūānuku or Ranginui were. I had to get back to school to get that ahi kā, that kaitiaki, and my wairua. I vowed I would do it for the sake of my children.”
Rapata Kopae
Ngāti Pūkeko, Ngāti Awa, Ngāi Tai, Ngāi Te Rangi
From: Pāhou
"Everybody from my generation made all these kids. At that time, there was Māori Trade Training, I spent three years in Upper Hutt. and all the fellas from the country went to the cities. You were allowed to drink, and there were were pubs full of women, and I made two kids while I was there, we made a population of kids without fathers. Somehow I realised I was scared of my young fellas. It was around the time I wanted to find myself in the taha Māori, and I realised, “Far out! How can I find myself when I’m running away from two young fellas?” I thought, “Right, I need to front up and do a taha Māori.” So, I built up enough gumption, enough balls, to ring his mother one day. I go, “Kia ora. Is the young fella there?”
Hēni Goldsmith,
Ngāti Ranginui, Ngāi Te Rangi; Jewish
Sandringham, Tamaki Makaurau
“As a child, my maternal grandmother didn’t speak English at all. She hated the English language, but as kids, we’d be bringing it back from school. She’d get the straw broom and whack us if we spoke English. She’d say, in Māori, ‘You kids are revolting because you’re using a language that I hate. What’s the matter with your own language?’
To get by, I had to speak English. My maternal grandfather spoke Māori and must have spoken some English because I remember him talking with my father. I could barely speak English myself, but I used to have to take my grandmother to the shop, which was also like a bank, to get her pension. She’d tell me in Māori what it was she wanted, and I’d say: ‘My grandmother would like sugar,’ or whatever, and I remember feeling that she was being ripped off, especially with her pension payout. I felt it then, and I still feel it now. In today’s world, I would have said something.”
Hōri Pawa Michael Taylor Himone- Mickey
Ngāti Awa, Tūwharetoa
From: Te Teko
“I remember growing up with all the stories from our old people of all the battles that were fought here in the old days. You see, there was a big battle down by the river. The government was trying to take the land off the Māoris, and the Māoris were fighting for it. Reinforcements were sent for, and then Te Arawa jumped in with the Pākehā to beat us up too. Our people had to give up the battle.
After that battle, the reinforcements sort of had a big party, and they started hanging around with the Māori maidens. Well, one of the maidens of Te Teko, Ngāhopi, was my great, great grandmother from my mother’s side. She was thinging around with my great, great grandfather, who was one of the British soldiers – William George Powell. He didn’t stay around, but he left a son – they named him Hōri Pawa too. Hōri Pawa or George Powell – it’s the same name actually. So it was a big thing for us. It’s hard, because they came to beat up the Māori and everything, yet he’s my great, great grandfather. Well, that’s how it happens, I suppose.”
